


The Russian Princess

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Male-Female Friendship, POV First Person, Unrequited Love, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Wooster tells Violetta about his first love... and how he incidentally got the better of Boris Dolokhov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Russian Princess

“I know I'm being incredibly nosy here,” said Violetta, “so, y'know, stop me if I cross any lines I shouldn't, but... you once mentioned something about a Russian princess in Paris, and you never really finished telling that story.”

“Ah,” I said. “Yes. Princess Orlov. Well, there was more to that story than what happened in Paris, but again some of this is a little... personal. I'm very happy to tell you about it, on the usual understanding.”

She nodded. “Yeah. That I don't tell anyone, and especially not Zeetha.” She gave a little grin. “By the way, why was she Princess Orlov and not Princess Orlova?”

“If you'd ever seen her,” I replied, “you would not need to ask. She dressed like a man. All the time, and beautifully. You know how much care I take over my clothes; she took even more care, and she was also flamboyant.” I paused. “And... very memorable. I can see her now. But, yes, she was one of those people who do not fit easily into conventional gender roles. She was attracted to men, which is important to the story; I still do not know whether or not she was also interested in women, though if she was, she would not have hidden it. It was not in her nature to hide.”

“You speak of her with a great deal of warmth,” said the observant Violetta.

“Yes. Although she must be fifteen years older than I am, she was my first love. I shall never know whether or not she reciprocated; I didn't give her the chance, and I think, looking back, that was a mistake.”

“You... why not?” asked Violetta, astonished.

I sighed. “Because she is a Princess, albeit one from Russia where Princesses are not so rare, and I am a relative nonentity. And, at the time, I was twenty-one and freshly arrived from England. I had never met any kind of Princess before, Russian or otherwise.”

“So how did you meet this one?” asked Violetta.

“Because I happened to save her life,” I explained. “There was a Russian agent by the name of Kuchtanin who had stolen some papers. I got word that he was in Paris and I was to go after him, so, of course, I did. The authorities didn't want Kuchtanin; they only wanted the papers he had stolen, so my instructions were to allow him to go free if he gave them up. I was happy with that. I thought I'd been given a nice straightforward assignment.”

“Heh,” said Violetta. “Have you actually ever had a nice straightforward assignment?”

I thought about it. “Not that I can recall. Anyway, this one certainly wasn't. I tracked Kuchtanin to a very expensive hotel, which surprised me because I knew very well it wasn't where he was staying, and I got in on the pretence of being someone's valet. I didn't have to lie; watch enough valets, and you learn how they carry themselves and how they act. As soon as I was out of sight of the door staff, I took off after Kuchtanin, and when I caught him he was trying to force his way into someone's room. I caught sight of a scared face, and for a moment I thought it was a young man. But, whoever it was, it was obvious that Kuchtanin intended them no good.”

“OK, so I think I know how the next bit goes,” said Violetta. “Stop me if I'm wrong. You, being who you are, were of course _absolutely terrified_ , but nonetheless you challenged Kuchtanin, beat him in a fair fight, got the papers off him, sent him packing, and administered words of comfort and consolation to his intended victim. Yeah?”

“You mock me, Violetta,” I said, trying to sound reproachful. I actually never mind when she does it. There's real affection in it.

“Well. Am I right or am I right?”

“You're... mostly right,” I said, sombrely. “Would that you were completely right. Unfortunately, Kuchtanin was a big, solid, very experienced spy, and I was a fresh-faced, underweight youngster. He therefore refused to believe that I could beat him, and, when I did, he wouldn't accept it. I would have been more than happy to let him go according to instructions, but no; he wouldn't give me the papers, and he wouldn't stop fighting.” I paused. “So I had to kill him.”

“Ah. Was that... was that the incident you told me about the other day?”

“Yes, it was,” I said. “The first time I had to kill someone. He'd already put a bullet in my shoulder by then, and he'd have got me through the heart the next time, even down on the floor as he was. I had a sword, and I ran him through with it. I shall never forget his face, nor the way everything seemed to collapse around me when I realised what I'd done.”

“Yeah,” said Violetta. “Same thing happened to me, first time. It does throw you out, unless you're a complete psychopath.”

“Yes, that was what the Princess said,” I replied. “She was far more comfort to me than I was able to be to her, although, to be fair, I had just saved her life, which was comfort in itself. Now, of course, she knew who I was, because I'd had to tell Kuchtanin in order that he was aware that I had the authority to let him go free in exchange for the papers. But, as it turned out, she was very much on my side. She was in possession of some secret, which she refused to tell me herself because it would endanger her to do so. However, she had me very well worked out straight away, and when I explain, you will begin to see why I admired her so much. She realised that if she told me that she had a secret which was a danger to her, without saying what it actually was, I would then want to go and discover the secret some other way out of a combination of curiosity and chivalry. And if I did find out the secret some other way – some way that could not possibly have involved her – then it would immediately be known to the whole of British Intelligence, and, with it no longer being a secret, she would then be safe.”

“Clever woman,” said Violetta. “Yes. She really does sound like your type. Did you ever find out the secret, then?”

“No, but of course I tried,” I said, candidly. “She had previously been romantically involved with the Tsarevich, and I gathered that the secret involved him in some way; but without going to Russia myself, I doubted I would find out what it was.”

“Wasn't there a Russian agent on Castle Wulfenbach?” asked Violetta.

“There was, and to my knowledge there still is,” I replied. “Boris Dolokhov. Yes. I was in a rather... interesting position with regard to that gentleman. You see, I discovered very early that he was a Russian agent, but unfortunately I was unable to unmask him to the Wulfenbachs without also unmasking myself. Therefore, all I could really do was neutralise him as much as possible. I'm still not certain whether or not he knew who I really was... well, until the incident where I was obliged to confront him, of course, but by that point I suspect everyone who was anyone knew who I was, so there was very little point in any attempt at secrecy.” I allowed myself a reminiscent grin. “I don't often go for the dramatic approach, but in this particular case it also happened to be the safest. If you're going to confront someone who you know is going to want to kill you afterwards, you do need a well-prepared exit route.”

“Wooster,” said Violetta, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh... have I not told you about that little incident? Another time, perhaps. Suffice it to say that I ended up letting myself down out of an airship with the aid of a thin rope and a hand-held flight rotor, following a very... interesting... conversation.”

“You are grinning like Maxim,” she said. “I approve.”

“Oh, it would have been entirely Maxim's style. You see, I can do it when it's appropriate. But, anyway, Dolokhov... no, he was not someone from whom I could try to worm any secret. He was far too subtle and devious. If you ever find me stabbed in the back, Violetta, look for him first.”

“I'll remember that,” she said. “But, anyway, about the Princess?”

“Yes. A few years later, I was absolutely astonished when she turned up on Castle Wulfenbach.”

“Why astonished?” asked Violetta. “The Baron surely has a lot of noble visitors.”

“Not as many as you'd think, and not usually on Castle Wulfenbach itself,” I replied. “And, besides, I took it as read that the Baron would be well aware that the Princess was in danger from her own compatriots. Whether or not he knew Dolokhov was a spy – and, given the fact that, as it turned out, he knew about me all along, I expect he probably knew all about Dolokhov – I would not have expected him to bring the Princess on board the same ship as another Russian of any kind. Besides, by this time I was aware that the Princess had fled to London, in the hope that it might be safer than Paris.”

“How on earth did you know that?”

“Ah. Well, the way intelligence services work in general, people do not tend to know one another unless they have worked together; but I do have some friends within the Service, and good ones at that. I won't go into any detail about them, except to say that one of them, by a curious irony, was posted to keep an eye on the Princess when she moved to London. One evening, it seems, the Princess started reminiscing about the handsome young Englishman... er, her phrase, I hasten to add, not mine... who had saved her life in Paris. My friend didn't know the story, and was most startled when my name came up, though she assured me she hid it successfully. But, as you can imagine, she thought it would interest me, and so she wrote to me about it.”

“So she may well have carried a torch for you after all?” said Violetta. “That's kind of sad.”

“She may or she may not. It wasn't clear to my friend either way,” I replied. “But she did recall me with considerable affection. And now here she was, not in London at all, but on Castle Wulfenbach. I had no idea until I inadvertently walked in on her.”

“That must have been quite a shock,” Violetta observed.

“The word shock barely begins to cover it,” I said. “I had just gone off duty for the evening and was walking back to my room, and I had a little indigestion. Nothing very serious, but I thought I would sleep better if I took something for it, and of course I knew where all the basic medicines and first aid equipment were to be found on Castle Wulfenbach. So I took a detour to the nearest medicine chest, and there was Princess Orlov in one of the small drawing rooms, playing, of all things, peg solitaire.”

“So... then what?” asked Violetta, carefully.

“Ah. Well, Violetta, have you ever been unfortunate enough to tread on the tines of a rake?”

“Not as such,” she replied, frowning slightly in puzzlement.

“No, of course not. Forgive me for asking. Your family would naturally have gardeners... Well, the handle of the rake flies up in the air and hits you in the face. The sensation I experienced at the time was not unlike that, but with an added pleasurable dimension.”

She chuckled. “You do have a way with words sometimes. Go on.”

“Well... I fear the pleasurable dimension did not last for very long,” I said, with a sigh. “Because the first thing she did was to ask who I was.”

Violetta stared. “You can't have changed so much in a few years, can you?”

“Not at all. I've worn mutton-chop whiskers ever since I was able to grow them, and I very much doubt the red Wulfenbach coat would have rendered me unrecognisable. I did recall that there is some condition of the brain which affects the ability to remember faces, and it occurred to me that she might be suffering from that; so I replied, 'I am Ardsley Wooster, Your Highness,' and paused. There was no flicker of recognition, so I added, 'Gilgamesh Wulfenbach's man.' It is not often I have found it so painful to say three simple words.”

“Ouch,” said Violetta. “So... I'm guessing she wasn't really the Princess.”

“And you would guess correctly,” I replied. “However, I was in such a fraught emotional state that I did not until the next thing she said. She smiled, switched to perfect English, and replied, 'Well, Mr Ardsley Wooster. Why don't you come and sit down with me?' And it is very difficult to describe exactly why that made my blood run cold, but I assure you it did.”

“Did the Princess speak English in Paris?” asked Violetta.

“A little, and with an accent,” I replied, “but, as I told you, she was very clever. She had plenty of time to have improved her English, especially living in London. That was not the issue. It was her face. The Princess I knew was warm and kind, even if from a distance she appeared splendid and aloof. But _this_ woman...” I paused, trying to find words. “She had no way of knowing that I knew the real Princess. To her, I was just a valet. But I was a valet who had stopped in his tracks, obviously smitten, and she was going to take that and use it. She was like a cat looking at a mouse.”

“Right... so you came unsmitten rather fast, I guess,” said Violetta, wincing.

“Think of it like this,” I explained. “Master Gil was once doing some experiments in cooling. Not for any particular reason; just to see how cold he could make an object. Of course, measuring such low temperatures was a challenge, so he would do it by dropping his chilled object – which had known mass and heat capacity – into a known mass of some liquid at a known temperature, and then observing the results and making calculations from them. One day, he chilled a piece of metal so far that when he dropped it into a large crucible full of molten lead, the whole thing solidified instantly. I... reacted very much like that molten lead.”

“He shouldn't muck around with lead fumes,” said Violetta practically. “They can send you mad.”

“Ahem,” I said.

“Ah,” said Violetta. “Well. Yes. Point taken. So... what happened next?”

“I made some polite but very rapid excuse and took to my heels,” I said. “I knew that even if she mentioned it to anyone, nobody would think it was unusual. I'm an Englishman. I'm always being teased for excessive modesty, so I knew that everyone would put it down to that. I had to find the indigestion tablets elsewhere, since otherwise I'd have had to pass her again; but I needed to get away from her and think. That was the first priority. And I was in a very difficult position. I had to find some way of making the Baron aware that she was not who she claimed to be, without unmasking myself in the process. If I once let slip the fact that I knew the real Princess, there would be questions, and no doubt the whole business of Kuchtanin would come out and my identity with it.”

“So, Boris Dolokhov all over again, then?” said Violetta.

“Precisely,” I replied. “And it's curious that you should say that, because, once I had calmed down a little, exactly the same thought occurred to me... and that, in turn, gave me the clue to dealing with the whole situation.”

“It did?”

“It did indeed. I went and found Dolokhov, and casually mentioned to him that I had just bumped into one of his compatriots, so if he felt inclined to go and speak a little Russian he might like to wander through for a chat. Of course, I speak Russian perfectly well myself, but that was something else he didn't find out until it was too late. It was useful that he should not know.”

“Ahhh,” said Violetta. “I see! Being a Russian agent himself, Dolokhov would have known that she wasn't the real Princess. And now she was _his_ problem.”

“Indeed,” I said. “I have never felt much compunction about making things Dolokhov's problem. After all, he has always been very happy to give me any problems he could find.”

“So then what happened?”

“Oh, well, then I took a couple of indigestion tablets and went to bed,” I said. “I'd set the wheels in motion. I didn't have to sit around watching them turn. By the time I went to get some breakfast the following morning, the supposed Princess had left the ship, Baron Wulfenbach was wearing an expression of quiet satisfaction, and Dolokhov was complaining about a massive headache. Winning a round against Dolokhov was always enjoyable, but winning a round when he had no idea I had even done it... now, that was gold.”

“Hey, that's no good, Wooster!” Violetta protested. “I want the details. The details, man!”

I grinned. “I don't know all of them myself. But I did piece a few of them together later, and the most important among them was that the false Princess was a vampire. No wonder she'd looked at me the way she did; if I'd taken her up on her kind invitation to sit with her, I dare say she would have sunk her teeth into my neck, and I should now be wandering around haunting crypts and avoiding my own reflection, which, I have to say, would make it very awkward to shave. I have no idea how vampires manage with that. Her target, apparently, was the Baron. I was never able to discover who she was working for, but, after all, there are many factions. It could have been almost any one of them. Be that as it may, I did discover that she and Dolokhov had got into a fight. Dolokhov is very strong, and he also has an extra pair of arms; but, well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you about vampires.”

“Sheesh,” said Violetta. “He was lucky not to get bitten.”

“I must admit,” I said, “I would have thought twice if I had realised I was unleashing a vampire on him. I'm not sure even Dolokhov really deserved that. Still, he was not bitten; and when a couple of the Jägers came along, caught them fighting, and split them up, the game was well and truly up on her part. She was showing her fangs clearly by that point, so it was perfectly obvious what she was. Dolokhov, I assume, managed to get himself off the hook, or at least he thought he did; like me, he may well have been on it all along. But he did end up with some bruises.”

“And he never suspected you for a moment?” asked Violetta.

I grinned. “Well... not of that, anyway,” I said, mischievously.

“Smart alec,” she said. It was meant as the highest compliment.


End file.
